


just call on me (and I'll send it along)

by owlinaminor



Series: love, heat, and screaming children [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4654893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“YES, we’re TOASTING!” Suga's sign reads.  “TOAST and BAGELS!  Just ASK NICELY!”  The words are accompanied by a sketch of a bagel wearing sunglasses and giving a thumbs-up.</p><p>Daichi is in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just call on me (and I'll send it along)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my self-indulgent summer camp au. please, make yourself at home.
> 
> (title from 'from me to you', by the beatles.)

Sawamura Daichi takes a sip of coffee, sets his cup down, and sighs.

His eyes feel as though there are small magnets glued to their lids, pulling them together.  His limbs are not sure they want to move.  His mind is clouded, fuzzy, stuffed with cotton.  It’s honestly a miracle he didn’t get into an accident on his drive here.  He was, stupidly, up until midnight last night – dragged out by his friends who don’t have summer jobs requiring to get up at five o’clock in the morning.

It’s six-thirty A.M. now, and Daichi wants to kill someone.  He doesn’t have enough energy to kill anyone, though – he just barely has enough energy to sit here in the cabin of his truck, in the parking lot of a summer camp in the Sendai mountains, for the rest of the morning.  Maybe take a nap.

But, unfortunately, he can’t do that.  He has to get up, and walk around, and carry heavy boxes.  Because, well, the camp kitchen is expecting a delivery from the company he works for, and he kind-of wants to keep this job.  His father got it for him, the boss doesn’t seem to hate him too much, and it pays almost minimum wage.  He just hates that some deliveries are scheduled at six-thirty in the morning – like this one, to the summer camp.

This camp needs deliveries twice a week, always at six-thirty in the morning, and, for some reason Daichi has yet to figure out, it always needs more yogurt.  Which is, for a food that’s essentially manufactured milk, unnecessarily heavy.  Daichi is not a fan.

He decides to give himself another minute of sitting, drinking coffee, and feeling sorry for himself before he actually gets up and does his job – but then, another car pulls into the parking lot.

The car is bright blue, like the sky on a clear day, and a little dinged up, the vehicular equivalent of a kid who’s been playing outside all day.  The car isn’t what catches Daichi’s attention.  That label goes to the guy sitting inside.

Daichi can see him through the window, singing along to something on his car’s radio as he pulls into his spot.  He’s got light, ashy blond hair that shines almost silver in the morning light and a bright, genuine smile that’s not only impressive for this time of morning but _beautiful_ in a way that Daichi usually only associates with paintings or really solid volleyball receives.

Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, Daichi is opening his door, nearly tripping out of the cab, and stumbling around to the back of his truck.  The other guy gets out of his car, too – and, _oh my god,_ that smile only gets brighter the closer Daichi is to it.  This guy can’t be human, Daichi thinks.  He’s got to be some sort of magical creature.  A faerie, maybe.  Or an angel.

“H-hi,” Daichi says.  He waves to the Possible Angel, feeling like a junior high kid talking to his first crush.  “I’m – you know, delivering.”  He points to his truck, as though his role at the camp wasn’t already obvious.

Possible Angel – who, Daichi’s slow brain is now deciding, must be a kitchen worker – turns that bright smile on him.  Daichi wonders if this is what it feels like to get struck by lightning.  “That’s great!” he says.  “We were really starting to run out of fresh fruit.”

He turns to go inside, leaving Daichi staring after him – his mouth hopefully not hanging _too_ far open.  But then, just before opening the door, Possible Angel twists his head and shouts, “Wait!  Did you bring coffee?”

Daichi forces his addled brain to think – _did_ he bring coffee?  He vaguely remembers loading a box of it.  He’s pretty sure.  “Yeah, I – I think so,” he tells the other guy.

“Yes!  Thank you!” the guy shouts, accompanying his enthusiastic voice with a fist-pump.  Then, as if that isn’t enough, he does a small victory dance as he goes inside, shaking his hips to a silent beat.

Daichi thinks he might explode.

* * *

Daichi’s job is, officially, that of a delivery person.  He brings crates of food from big warehouses to restaurants, caterers, and any other kitchens that don’t have the time or resources to get them themselves.  Mostly, the job involves a lot of driving from place to place, picking up boxes, putting them on a cart, rolling them into the kitchen, unloading them, and then picking up more.  Usually, Daichi does his job in a sort of half-conscious state, just trying to get all the supplies into the kitchen as quickly as possible and move on to another job.  He doesn’t pay attention to the individual places or people beyond asking where the best place to put something might be.

This job is different.

Today, Daichi feels more awake than he usually does after his third cup of coffee.  He notices all the details of this kitchen – pays attention to the stainless steel countertops, the bowl of apples and oranges on the counter, the coffee bubbling away on one side.  He reads the labels on the boxes as he brings them in, takes note of the menu and allergy list tacked up on the wall, almost laughs aloud at the request for more coffee written in large, bold letters on a whiteboard labeled, “Order.”

But more than anything, Daichi pays attention to Possible Angel.  The first thing he did when he arrived, Daichi saw, was set up a small portable speaker system, and now he’s singing and dancing along to something by the Beatles while simultaneously chopping strawberries.  Daichi is having a hard time tearing his eyes away.  The guy doesn’t have any particularly special grace or energy, but he just looks so _cheerful_ – swinging his hips and shouting along to the music, even though he doesn’t know most of the lyrics.  Watching him is like stepping outside on the first warm spring day after a long winter.

Admittedly, Daichi feels a little bit like a stalker, spending his first half hour at the camp kitchen frantically trying to think of ways to talk to the guy.  He wants to ask for a name, or a phone number, or just _how_ – how can he be so wonderful, and also real?  Shouldn’t there be laws against this kind of thing?  Is the guy banned in several counties?

Luckily for Daichi’s frail heart, an opportunity soon presents itself.

Possible Angel has finished chopping strawberries, and he goes to put a bowl full of the fruits of his labor into the produce fridge at the same time as Daichi carries a couple of boxes of frozen meatballs into the kitchen.

“Um, where.”  Daichi stops, composes himself.  _They’re just words,_ he tells himself.  _Talking isn’t hard.  You’ve been doing it since you were, like, two.  Come on._   “Where should I put these?  Like, in the freezer, or the fridge, or ... I’m not sure how you guys organize ...”  _Nice job, Daichi.  Really smooth._

But the other guy doesn’t seem particularly sure of himself, either.  “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I don’t really know.  I just started working here a couple of days ago, and I’m not really sure how we organize, either.”

 _Oh._   Well, that would explain why Daichi’s never seen him before at the camp.  Seen him and his lovely face, and his enchanting smile, and his ... A moment passes before Daichi realizes he should probably say something in return.  _Because, you know, two people talk in a conversation._

“So who should I –” Daichi starts, at the same time as the other guy says, “You could ask my manager, I guess.”

The manager is an older, taller guy with spiky, blond hair and a perpetually grim expression who looks both incredibly confident and mildly terrifying.  Daichi would rather ask a charging rhinoceros.

He forces himself to think rationally – fairly difficult, considering the _actual wonder of the world_ standing in front of him – then suggests, “I suppose I could just put them in the second fridge, and you could move them into the freezer yourself later?”

Possible Angel nods enthusiastically.  He opens his mouth as though to say something else, but then closes it and heads into the produce fridge.

Daichi only stares after him for a few seconds.  (It takes a lot of willpower not to stare for more.  But then, he _is_ carrying heavy boxes.  Funny how he forgot that during the conversation.)

* * *

Daichi takes a few more trips back and forth from his truck to the freezer, delivering everything from egg patties to yogurt.  Possible Angel is similarly hard at work, stacking the crates of fruits and vegetables Daichi delivered inside the produce fridge.  Their paths don’t quite cross for a few minutes – which is good, Daichi supposes, because the timing gives him a few minutes to recover from their first conversation and prepare for a second.  (Like a soldier between battles on a hard campaign, if that campaign involved really awkward attempts at flirting.)

“So, you just started working here, huh?” Daichi asks.  _Hey, you got out a full sentence!_ he compliments himself.  “Isn’t it the middle of the camp season?”

Possible Angel shrugs.  “Yeah, well, I was unemployed the first half of the summer, because the camp I used to work at decided not to rehire me.  But they didn’t give me a lot of notice, so even though I looked hard for a new job, I wasn’t having much luck until a friend of mine who works here told me about this opening.”  The guy flushes red, like the strawberries he was chopping earlier – _adorable._   “Sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear all of that,” he adds.  “I’m sure you just want to do your job.”

On any other morning, the guy would be absolutely right.  But this morning ... He couldn’t be more wrong.

“No, it’s fine!” Daichi blurts out, probably _way_ too quickly.  _Cover that, cover it!_ “Why didn’t you get re-hired at your other camp?”  _Are they insane?  Do they hate nice people?_ he wonders.  (He can’t think of any other possible reason.)

“I don’t know, really,” Possible Angel admits.  He reaches up as though to rub the back of his neck, then seems to remember he’s wearing gloves, and drops his arm.  “I liked working there as a counselor a lot, and I was really surprised when they didn’t hire me back.  But there were some changes in the bureaucracy or _something ..._ ”

Daichi takes a moment to imagine this guy surrounded by children, laughing and smiling that _wonderful_ smile with tiny kids climbing up his back and holding onto his knees.  And then he has to very quickly _un_ -imagine it, because if he thinks about it too long, he might actually burn up, like a supernova that just can’t take the heat any more.

“A-anyway.”  The guy laughs nervously.  “I should probably get back to work.”

“Yeah,” Daichi agrees.  “Me, too.”

And yet, they still manage to stare awkwardly at each other for a good minute before returning to their jobs.

* * *

They talk a few more times after that, while Daichi wheels boxes in and out and Possible Angel organizes the two walk-in refrigerators.

At first, it’s just a casual, “Hi!” from the guy as Daichi passes by.  (Daichi stumbles and nearly tips his cart over the first time, but by the third time, he’s responding in kind.)

Then, it’s a polite, “Hey, let me get that,” from Daichi as Possible Angel struggles to open the door of the produce fridge while balancing a heavy box of salad mix on his hip.  He startles and nearly drops the box at Daichi’s suggestion, waving one hand in the air as though to signify that he’s perfectly fine – which Daichi takes as a hint that he isn’t, actually.  (Daichi might be imagining it, but he thinks he might catch the slightest hint of a blush on the other guy’s face as he holds the door.)

After that, it’s a warm, “By the way, thank you for doing this,” from the other guy.  Daichi’s nearing his last delivery, bringing some crates of cereal into the pantry, when he hears the voice behind him.  Possible Angel is looking down at his sneaker-clad feet.  If Daichi didn’t know any better, he’d say the guy is embarrassed.  “I know it’s your job, but ... It’s early in the morning, and you’ve been lifting a lot of boxes, and there’s no way that’s easy.  So ... thanks.”  He turns and flees, leaving Daichi dumbfounded before giving him a chance to reply.

And finally, there’s the freezer incident.

Daichi is on his way out to the truck, a couple more boxes to go, wheeling his cart as slowly as he possibly can – when he overhears Possible Angel talking to his manager.

“Okay, I organized both fridges, and I put out all of the breakfast stuff that doesn’t need to stay cold,” the guy says.  “What do you want me to do next?”

“Why don’t you start stocking the freezer?” the manager replies.

Possible Angel’s face falls, but within a second, his cheerful expression is back.  “Well, I’d _like_ to, but ... It’s just _so cold_ in the freezer.”

“What?” the manager asks.  “Didn’t you bring a sweatshirt, like I told you to yesterday?”

Daichi turns the corner to the main part of the kitchen just in time to catch Possible Angel’s face flushing red.  “I – I forgot,” he stammers.

The manager shrugs, his expression apathetic.  “I guess you’ll just have to go in and out really quickly, then.”

Possible Angel’s mouth falls open.  He looks so _distressed_ , like a kid who’s been told he has to jump off the high diving board to pass his swim class, even though he’s terrified of heights.  The expression hits Daichi like a punch to the gut – this guy can’t be sad, for even a second.  He’s much too wonderful to be sad.

Daichi’s mind is continuously chanting, _he can’t be sad he can’t be sad he can’t be sad_ – which probably explains why his inhibitions are unable to stop him from blurting out, “I have an extra sweatshirt in my truck.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, Daichi slaps his palms to his face.  Why did he do this?  He should be able to leave now!  This delivery is finished, and he has a full hour until his next one!  Why can’t he just go, get some coffee, daydream about Possible Angel for a little bit, then continue to his next delivery like a _normal human being?_   Why does he have to make an ass of himself instead?

But then, the guy’s face brightens – like the sun coming out after a cloudy day – and Daichi forgets all of his concerns.

“You’d lend me your sweatshirt?” he asks.  “Really?”

Daichi nods.  (He doesn’t really trust himself to speak right now.)

“Thank you so much!” Possible Angel says.  He directs a smile at Daichi – and Daichi could be imagining it, but he thinks it might be the biggest one so far that morning.  His heart does somersaults in his chest.

Possible Angel follows Daichi outside, and stands in the doorway to the kitchen as Daichi climbs up into the truck and starts rummaging around.

“Sorry, it’s a mess,” he apologizes.  (He feels much more comfortable talking to Possible Angel when he can’t see the other guy’s face.  Probably because it’s such a _nice_ face.)  “The sweatshirt might be kind-of dirty.  And big.  And old – it’s a high school volleyball sweatshirt from a couple of years ago.”

 “Oh, you play volleyball, too?” Possible Angel exclaims.

“Yeah,” Daichi replies, still looking.  Man, how many old maps and empty packs of gum can one truck _have?_   He really needs to clean in here.  “I was the captain of my high school’s team, actually.”

“That’s so cool!”  Daichi never thought it was that cool – more of a stressful responsibility, really – but if Possible Angel says it’s cool, then it’s fucking awesome.  “I was a setter at my high school,” the guy adds, somewhat less enthusiastic.

“Was?” Daichi wonders.  “Are you still in high school?”

“Nope – graduated this year.  But the college I’m going to isn’t far from my town, so I still plan on going to a lot of my team’s matches.”

He’s so _supportive_ , Daichi thinks.  So _kind._ He imagines the guy standing up in the bleachers, cheering on his team with all his might – and the image is so distracting, Daichi nearly hits his head on the ceiling.

They keep talking about volleyball while Daichi searches – it turns out their teams nearly missed playing each other several times, which is probably good, because there’s no way Daichi could’ve concentrated on a game with this guy on the other side of the court.  Finally, he locates the sweatshirt wedged behind the passenger’s seat, brushes off a thin layer of dust, and tosses it to its new wearer.

“Oh, this is perfect, thank you so much!” the guy says.

Daichi is pretty sure the sweatshirt has at least two holes and several soda stains, but he’s not about to argue.  He turns around to get down from the cab, then hears –

“Hey, by the way, what’s your name?  I feel like I should be calling you something besides Nice Delivery Guy.”

“It’s – it’s Daichi.  Sawamura Daichi,” Daichi says, his voice a good octave higher than normal.  (Possible Angel wanted to know his name?  _His_ name?)  “But you can keep calling me Nice Delivery Guy if you want.”

The other guy laughs at that – it’s a wonderful sound, like church bells on a spring morning, and Daichi wants it to go on forever.  “I’m Sugawara Koushi,” he says.  “But you can call me Suga.”

 _Suga,_ Daichi repeats to himself _._   Like _sugar_ , in English.  A perfect name for a perfect person.

With that thought, Daichi turns back around to see Possible Angel – Suga, his name is _Suga_ – wearing Daichi’s sweatshirt.  And, okay, he _knew this would happen_ , he should’ve mentally prepared himself for this, but he still has to take a moment to just _pick himself up off the floor and piece himself back together._   Suga is smaller than Daichi, not shorter but more slender, like a dancer, and the sweatshirt is just big enough on him that he appears to be almost swallowed up by it.  He has to roll the sleeves halfway up just to get his hands free.  The bottom of his shorts is barely visible beneath the end of the sweatshirt.  And Daichi suddenly has an image of Suga standing in the doorway to his bedroom, _wearing that sweatshirt and nothing else_ –

This is it, isn’t it.  This is now Sawamura Daichi dies.  Not on a battlefield or saving his idiotic friends from themselves, but right here, right now, seeing a kitchen worker he _literally just met today_ wear his old sweatshirt.

“Um,” Suga says.  His face is very red, and Daichi realizes that he’s been staring.  “I should probably – get back to work.”

He turns and heads back into the kitchen – probably a good idea, because Daichi isn’t sure how much more of this he can take.

* * *

Thankfully, Suga spends the next few minutes in the freezer, giving Daichi adequate time to recover (or, at least, push the most distracting images to the back of his mind) as he brings in the last of the boxes.

The next time they cross paths, Suga is taking a box of frozen meatballs from the second fridge to the meet freezer, as Daichi rolls his empty cart out of the kitchen for the last time.

“Uh,” Daichi says.  He insistently tells himself _don’t look at the sweatshirt don’t look at the sweatshirt,_ but it’s not working very well.  “I, um ... Have to go soon.”

Suga startles, the box nearly slipping out of his hands.  “Oh, but I still have your sweatshirt!  Wait, let me just –”  He starts to put the box down.

Daichi still has almost forty-five minutes until he has to leave for his next delivery – and, well, he can do without a second cup of coffee today.  “You can keep wearing it,” he says.  “I can stick around for a bit.  You still have some stocking to do, right?”

Suga waves dismissively with one hand – then quickly has to return it, before the box slips.  “No, don’t wait for me, I’ll be okay.”

Daichi narrows his eyes.  “Isn’t it below freezing in there?”

Suga shrugs and repeats, “I’ll be okay.”

Daichi can feel his heart pounding impossibly loudly, like the largest of taiko drums.  He summons all of his courage and says, “My next delivery isn’t for another hour and a half, and the drive there isn’t very long.  I can wait.”

“Oh.”  Suga looks surprised for a moment, then he grins – wide and bright and beautiful.  “Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

Before he can answer, Suga’s manager shouts from the front of the kitchen, “Would you like to stay forever?”

At that, Suga goes so red – his face is essentially one big tomato with eyes, a nose, and a mouth.  It’s the most adorable thing Daichi has ever seen.

It would be physically impossible for Daichi to say no.

* * *

Daichi spends the last fifteen minutes or so before breakfast half helping out where he can, and half trying not to stare too obviously at Suga.

Suga finishes organizing the freezer quickly, then takes the sweatshirt off (much to Daichi’s relief) and gets the last few things ready for the rush of children due to arrive at eight.  Daichi helps him organize the breakfast bar, set out bagels, bring out the bowls of fruit Suga prepared earlier, and find enough spoons for everything.  (Although, for the most part, _helping_ entails leaning against the counter while Suga does most of the work, because Daichi, as a non-kitchen-certified peon, is not allowed to touch any of the food.)  All the while, he and Suga keep up an easy conversation, talking about their high schools, their colleges – both of them are going to public schools, not too far from each other, but Daichi tries not to dwell on what that could mean for too long – then shifting to books, and movies, and mythological creatures.  Suga’s pretty smart, Daichi realizes, but more than that, he’s curious to learn, no matter what the topic is.  Daichi could honestly talk to him for hours.

Five minutes before eight, a couple groups of kids show up and start setting the tables for breakfast while Suga makes a pot of coffee for the counselors.  Daichi watches Suga’s slender hands nimbly work the coffeemaker – then notices something interesting on the large coffee-holding thermos thing (Daichi doesn’t know what it’s called and is too embarrassed to ask.)

“Hey, Suga,” he says.  “Why does that thing say, ‘THIS IS COFFEE’ on it?  Shouldn’t it be obvious that it’s coffee?”

Suga flushes pink – and Daichi doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how ridiculously cute that is.  “It’s a long story.”

Daichi wants to ask what that story is, but before he can get a chance, Suga’s manager shouts, “Suga!  Get on your gloves, we’re serving soon!”

“Ah!”  Suga scans the kitchen, quickly checking to make sure he’s done everything he needs to.  Daichi looks around, too – he doesn’t see anything missing, but there must be something, because Suga shouts, “Wait!”

He sprints into the kitchen office, nearly knocking over a tray of breakfast rounds.  Daichi watches, confused, as Suga disappears into the office, then emerges a minute later.

“Had to make my sign,” Suga explains, holding piece of paper over his head like a trophy.

Daichi can’t see what’s written on it at first.  But then, Suga brings the paper up to the front of the kitchen and places it carefully on the counter between the toaster and a large bowl of bagels.

“YES, we’re TOASTING!” Suga’ sign reads.  “TOAST and BAGELS!  Just ASK NICELY!”  The words are accompanied by sketch of a bagel wearing sunglasses and giving a thumbs-up.

Daichi is in love.

* * *

Breakfast is – unsurprisingly – amazing.

The fruit is fresh and sweet, the yogurt is delicious, and the bagels are perfect.  And the _service_ – the service is just out of this world.  Although it’s possible that Daichi could be a little bit biased on that front, because he spends the vast majority of the meal watching Suga.

Today’s menu, it appears, is yogurt parfait and fruit, with an abundance of bagels available to anyone who asks.  Suga’s job is to toast those bagels – hence the informational sign that, honestly, Daichi can’t help smiling at every time he sees it.

One would think toasting bagels isn’t a very interesting job.  All Suga has to do is break the bagels in half, put in the industrial toaster on the side of the counter, wait for them to toast, then give them to the people waiting.  But to Daichi, the job appears to be anything but simple.

He sees the looks on people’s faces when they receive their ready bagels, perfectly warm and crispy.  He hears their sincere words of thanks – _thank you for doing this_ and _thank you for turning on the toaster_ and _thank you for making my morning better._   One counselor, a short guy with spiky hair, enthusiastically tells Suga that his toasting of bagels is the best thing to happen to this camp.

Daichi hasn’t exactly been at this camp very long, but he’s inclined to agree.

Suga is like a kind spirit, giving smiles and warmth to everyone he meets.  He’s like the American Santa Claus, if Santa Claus were younger, less creepy, and more attractive.  _Much_ more attractive.

Once Suga has finished serving bagels to the hungry children and hungrier counselors, many of whom ask for seconds, he grabs food for himself and Daichi, and the two of them go into the back kitchen office to have some breakfast.

Suga is still beaming, practically glowing from the praise of the people he served.  He tells Daichi how much he loves working at this camp – “Yeah, I have to wake up early and drive for half an hour,” he says, “but it’s worth it to see the kids’ smiles when they get breakfast.  It’s the best meal of the day, you know?  God, I hope I can work here as a counselor next year ...”

He continues talking, and Daichi just nods, nods, wonders what he can do to see this person again.

Daichi never really dated much in high school – just had a couple of crushes that never went anywhere, asked one of his friends to prom, and that was it.  He has no clue how to ask this wonderful, perfect, _ethereal_ guy to not leave his life after shining into it so brilliantly.

 _Have coffee with me,_ he wants to say.  Or, _Go see a movie with me._   Or, _Let me look at you.  Just let me look at you.  For, like, an hour.  A day.  Forever._

Or just, simply, _Go out with me.  Please go out with me.  I promise I’m a good guy, even though I know I can’t begin to deserve you._

He rehearses the words in his mind a thousand times, but when there’s finally a break in the conversation, all he manages to say is, “Suga, could I ... See you again?”

Suga looks at him curiously.  “You will, won’t you?  Don’t you do deliveries twice a week?”

Daichi has to restrain himself from banging his head on the table in shame.  _Holy shit.  I do deliveries twice a week.  That’s at least five more hours to see him.  How did I not realize that._

But then, Suga looks at him, his eyes growing wide and his face going red.  “Wait, do you mean ... Outside of work?”

Daichi nods helplessly.

“Oh,” Suga says.  And he smiles so brightly – his smile is like five hundred million suns going supernova at once, and Daichi is so in love with him it hurts.

So in love with him, he almost doesn’t notice when Suga grabs a piece of paper and a marker – bright orange, the same color he used for the toasting sign – and scribbles down a string of digits.  He hands it to Daichi almost shyly.  “Here,” he says.  “My number.”

Daichi takes the paper – it’s just a scrap piece of paper, with a shopping list printed on one side, but it feels like the most precious gift he’s ever been given.  He folds it up and places it carefully in his pocket.

And then, his gaze lands on the clock on the wall above Suga’s head – “Shit,” he curses aloud.  “I mean – sorry.  My next delivery is in half an hour.  I need to get going.”  He stands reluctantly.

Suga nods.  “Okay.  Drive safe!” he adds.

Daichi nods back helplessly, then backs out of the kitchen – not wanting to take his eyes off Suga until he absolutely has to.

He’s just turning on the engine of his truck, his mind still reeling from the incredible feeling of _I met an angel and he gave me his phone number_ , when he hears a cry.

“ _Wait!”_

Suga dashes outside and stops, right below the driver side window.  He’s carrying Daichi’s sweatshirt.

“Wait,” Suga repeats, breathless.  “I need to give you back your sweatshirt!”

Daichi looks at Suga for a moment – his bright eyes and his delicate cheekbones and a smile that could light up the world – and shakes his head.  “No,” Daichi says.  “You keep it.  It – it looks better on you.”

Suga grins.  “Okay,” he replies.  “But one more thing, then, before you go.”

And in one fluid motion, Suga hoists himself up on the truck, leans in through the open window, and kisses Daichi on the cheek.

It’s a simple kiss – light as a feather, gentle as a spring breeze – but it feels like more.  It feels like a promise.

And Daichi – running on instinct now, too far gone to let his inhibitions stop him – reaches out, grabs Suga, and pulls him closer.  Closer and closer and closer – and Daichi’s lips are chapped but Suga’s are soft and warm, and he tastes like coffee and strawberries – and Daichi could lose himself in this warm feeling rising in his chest.

It goes on for seconds, or minutes, or possibly a short lifetime.  It goes on until a shout rings out from the kitchen.

“ _Suga_!  You’re not getting paid to make out with delivery guys!”

“Ah.”  Suga looks at Daichi, cheeks pink and grin bright.  “I have to go.”

He leaves Daichi with one last kiss and a shout of, “Text me!” – leaves Daichi wondering if he’s in any condition to operate a motor vehicle right now.

After a long minute of just sitting, head in his hands, marveling at the infinite beauty of the universe, Daichi takes a long, shaky breath.  He pats his pocket to make sure the piece of paper is secure, then puts the truck in drive.

Daichi only ever drank one cup of coffee this morning, but he feels awake enough to last a week.

**Author's Note:**

> I can confirm that my primary motivation for writing this fic was to make that one mulan reference. yes, I am a Very Serious Writer.
> 
> also, some words on the series as a whole: the summer camp au is going to be a collection of ridiculously fluffy fics set at a summer camp, vaguely based on my experiences working in the kitchen of a girl scout camp for a couple of weeks this summer - yes, I essentially had suga's job. there will be many pairings (each major pairing gets a fic), plus some friendship and general antics. y'know, camp stuff.
> 
> I have most of the fics in the series drafted already, so I hope to post them all within the next couple of weeks (before I start classes in earnest.) watch this space. also, please come bother me on [tumblr](http://dadmaxfurymom.tumblr.com/) and ask me about my headcanons for this au, because I have Many. (I'll take drabble requests, too!)


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